


until I come back (from the dead for you)

by RiotFalling



Series: I will come back from the dead for you [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, College student Tony, M/M, Smut, but nothing descriptive, fun with dog tags, one night stand with feelings, special ops Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27953363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiotFalling/pseuds/RiotFalling
Summary: Bucky meets Tony at a dive bar. He can’t deny that there’s something between them, but Bucky is also leaving soon, and he doesn’t know when he’ll be back. He only knows that he’ll think about Tony the entire time he’s gone, that as soon as he’s stateside again he’s going to take Tony on an actual date.But coming back takes a little longer than he expected, and he comes back a little more broken.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Series: I will come back from the dead for you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2047121
Comments: 30
Kudos: 257





	until I come back (from the dead for you)

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time I promised my angstiest maniac that I would write a sad MCD ending just for him. 
> 
> That being said, I’m a softe, and I had to write it a happy ending for myself. So there are two versions of this fic. They start exactly the same and end Very Differently. It is not at all necessary to read one to understand the other, so follow your heart! Thank you and plz enjoy.

Bucky has a usual table at the dive bar. It’s a tiny booth in the very back corner. Farthest from the bright lights over the pool tables, out of the way and lost in shadow enough that even the waitresses miss it every other circle of the small building. 

From his table he has an excellent view of both the front door and the door to the kitchen. He can keep an eye on the bar and all the other small tables scattered around the place, and no one bothers him.

Tonight, Bucky is nursing a glass of whiskey and trying not to take _too much_ note of the cute brunette at the bar with ass for _days._ The young man also has big, clever brown eyes and a laugh that draws attention, a group of friends to laugh along with him. 

They look like students, and even after he determines them unlikely to be a threat Bucky can’t stop looking.

Between one sweep of his eyes over the building and the next, Bucky abruptly realizes the young man with the pretty brown eyes is watching him back.

* * *

Two nights later the young man is back, alone this time, and when he catches Bucky’s eye he smiles, warm and gorgeous and a little wicked.

He sits at the bar, sips at his drink, and watches Bucky watch him.

The next time the waitress actually remembers to stop by his table Bucky orders an extra drink. The surprised flush that rises in the boy’s cheeks when the bartender sets the glass in front of him makes his eyes shine, and Bucky grins toothily.

The young man practically sashays over to his table, drink in hand, and introduces himself as Tony.

Bucky repeats it, tastes the shape of the name on his tongue, and Tony flushes a little darker, grins a little wider. When Bucky's eyes flicker to the empty side of the booth Tony drops into the seat without hesitation.

"Haven't seen you around before," Tony says, eyes big and clever over the rim of his glass, “Which, yes, is both a statement of fact and a pick up line.” 

"Not around much," Bucky says with a shrug and a helpless grin, and Tony hums thoughtfully as his gaze shifts to the chain of Bucky's dog tag, peaking above the collar of his shirt.

Tony doesn't ask any questions. At least, not any of the questions Bucky is expecting. He asks how Bucky feels about sci-fi, then laughs loud and delighted when Bucky rattles off a couple books written in the 60's.

“Never say the word pineapple to me again,” Tony says seriously after asking about his favorite pizza toppings, then reluctantly smiles when Bucky just shrugs, unrepentant.

“What was th’ last movie you walked out of?” Bucky asks, then snorts into his glass when Tony reluctantly admits that it was WALL-E.

“It was too sad!” Tony insists and leans across the table to swat at him when Bucky’s shoulders shake harder, completely unafraid, “I finished it eventually!”

So they spend the night talking about nothing. 

Bucky laughs more than he has in years. When Tony leaves it's with a last, lingering look over his shoulder, and Bucky bites his tongue against the urge to offer to walk him home. He settles for watching Tony leave, grip on his empty glass tightening.

Bucky was wrong, that first night, getting to know Tony could be _very_ dangerous.

* * *

The next night, Tony is already waiting at his table with two glasses of whiskey and a bright smile that almost distracts from the nervous tapping of his fingers against the table.

He _knows_ it’s a bad idea, but Bucky drops into the seat across from him anyways, and Tony’s grin gets wider.

They talk about their favorite cars, and the excitement on Tony’s face is almost blinding as he tells Bucky about the Roadster he’s fixing up. Tony’s eyes drop a little when he talks about his family, voice more subdued, but he lights up again when Bucky asks what he’s studying.

Bucky haltingly tells his own stories, growing up in Brooklyn, the time his sisters tricked him into eating a cake made with salt, egged on by Tony sharing his own embarrassing tales. 

Floating high on the sound of Tony’s laugh, the way Tony’s legs nudge against his own beneath the table.

They’ve barely started on their second round when the waitress comes by to tell them it’s last call, and Bucky can see his own surprise echoed on Tony’s face. He can’t remember the last time he lost track of time so completely.

This time when Tony heads for the door Bucky is right behind him, Tony’s calloused hand held tightly in his own.

* * *

It's a cold night, and Tony steps into his space under the flickering neon of the bar light.

Tony has to tip his head so far back, and Bucky has to tip his chin so far down, and Tony’s breath is _so warm_ against his lips. It makes Bucky feel extra huge, monstrous, curling down around Tony like he's trying to hide it.

He's all too aware of how easy it would be to wrap himself around Tony, envelop him completely and never let go.

“Wanna walk me home?” Tony asks and his little smirk gets wider, eyes dark and wicked as he adds “And then come up and fuck me?”

Bucky is leaving tomorrow and he doesn’t know when he’ll be back, Tony knows he is, Bucky said it the first night they talked in some pitiful attempt to put up a wall. 

For all the good that did him.

He’s already in too deep, falling fast, his hands on Tony’s hips before Bucky is even aware that he’s moving. Like he needs something to hold onto.

“Yes,” Bucky says, and he means all of it. He wants to walk Tony home, wants to take him inside and take him apart.

He wants _everything._

* * *

Tony's apartment is small, and cluttered, somehow exactly what Bucky had expected. Before he can investigate any of the half-built gadgets or thick books laying around Tony is kissing him, kissing him like he may never get another chance and Bucky’s heart clenches painfully at the thought.

He shoves it away, eagerly chases Tony's lips as they stumble into the equally small bedroom and tumble gracelessly into bed, tossing their clothes aside along the way.

"Can I-" Bucky asks, lips tracing down the line of Tony's neck with the barest hint of teeth.

 _"Yes,"_ Tony sighs, fingers in Bucky's hair, pulling him in and arching against him.

Anything he asks, Tony breathes out _yes,_ like a plea. He lets Bucky suck deep purple marks into his throat and down his chest, lets Bucky scrape his teeth over the delicate arch of his collarbone, the peak of his nipple and the curve of his hip.

“Please,” Tony gasps when Bucky slides two fingers into him, impatient, and Bucky groans low in his chest.

His blood rushes harder with every desperate roll of Tony’s hips, working himself open while Bucky bites more blooming marks into his skin. Bucky’s heartbeat is deafening as he mouths at Tony’s cock, adds a third finger and works them until Tony is soft and open around him, clawing at Bucky’s shoulders as he pulls away.

 _“Now,”_ Tony demands, heel digging into Bucky’s side as he struggles to roll himself over, and then moans _so sweet_ when Bucky bites hard into the meat of his thigh. 

“Fuck—“ Bucky groans as he presses himself against Tony, presses _into him._ He wraps his rough hands around Tony’s hips, huge and dangerous, presses a little deeper while Tony’s breathless moans ring in his ears. “ _Fuck,”_ he growls again, “‘M gonna _break_ you.”

“No you’re not” Tony says around a laugh that has him tightening up slightly, has both of them moaning, “C’mon I can- _fuck_ I can take it, I swear- _oh-“_

He arches his back harder, gorgeous sweat-slick curve of his spine stealing Bucky’s breath even before he sinks _deeper._ Before he completely loses himself in the tight clench of Tony around him, falling into it, until his hips press up against that perfect ass.

“Fuck yes- _oh-“_ Tony whines when Bucky rolls his hips, grinding into him, and he moans wordlessly when Bucky starts to withdraw.

It’s overwhelming, Tony warm and perfect as he writhes beneath him, against him, the way Tony shoves himself back into every hard thrust and the _sounds_ he makes. Bucky wraps himself around Tony, sinks his teeth into his shoulder and when Tony begs _harder, more, please,_ Bucky gives it to him.

He’d give Tony anything.

 _“Bucky,”_ Tony sighs when he comes, one hand tangled in the sheet and the other thrown back to yank at Bucky’s hair, still egging him on.

He growls into Tony’s ear, sucks at his throat and drives himself into Tony’s shaking body until he falls apart with a sound that’s almost pained, finally stilling his hips as he pants against the teeth marks on Tony’s shoulder. He doesn’t move until Tony whines and tugs at his hair again, then groans as he slowly withdraws and rolls them both over.

 _“Fuck,”_ Bucky breathes out as he stares at the ceiling, and Tony laughs against the curve of his throat.

“Yeah,” Tony says happily and goes limp, half sprawled across Bucky and his voice already slurring with sleep, “Well done, A+ work from everybody, encore, so on and so forth.”

Bucky hums, presses his fingers into Tony’s messy curls to rub at his scalp and in no time at all Tony’s breathing goes even and deep.

He should leave, Bucky knows he should, before it seems even more impossible than it does now. But instead he just tightens his other arm around Tony’s waist, pulls him closer and breathes him in.

* * *

Bucky doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up to Tony still sprawled out on his chest, drooling a little. There are hickies blooming on Tony’s neck and shoulders, red and purple and splotchy, and Bucky doesn’t even think about trying to leave. He’s already in too deep.

Tony wakes up slowly, lots of twitching and snuffling noises, and he’s still half asleep when he must realize Bucky is still there because he stills for a second before he clings to Bucky harder.

“When do you have to leave?” Tony asks, not lifting his head from Bucky’s chest, his fingers tapping Bucky’s ribs.

“Couple hours,” Bucky says and it’s not enough time, it’s _not enough,_ so he taps at Tony’s chin and says “Hey, look up here for me sweet thing.”

Tony twists his head, looks up at Bucky with his big bambi eyes and the slightest downward twist to his lips that he can’t quite hide. Bucky quickly shifts his dog tags from his own neck to Tony’s and then smiles as Tony’s eyes go even wider, as pink spreads across his cheekbones.

”Gonna take you on a proper date,” Bucky promises, throat tight, stomach twisting, “Soon as I get back. So don’t forget me, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony repeats, a little breathless, and gets his hands in Bucky’s hair to pull him down into a kiss.

He pulls until Bucky rolls with him and presses him down into the mattress again, kisses him deep and desperate and _aching_ while Tony arches up against him. 

Tony is hard against his thigh, so warm and _so sweet_ as he pulls Bucky in, pulls him closer, kisses him harder while Bucky huffs out a laugh against his lips.

“Aren’t you already sore enough?” Bucky asks, dragging a hand down Tony’s chest, and pressing his teeth to Tony’s jaw.

“Yeah,” Tony says happily, hooking one leg over Bucky’s hip and grinding up against him, “Wanna feel you til you get back, c’mon honey, really leave a mark.”

So Bucky growls, bites him harder and reaches for the lube again.

He’s barely sunk himself into Tony again, golden thighs spread wide around his hips and Tony’s lips so hungry against his own, when an alarm starts blaring in the next room.

“That’s my phone,” Tony gasps while Bucky rolls his hips, presses himself _deep,_ chases the flush that’s spreading across Tony’s cheeks, down his neck. “It’s- _ah,_ probably still in my pants, _fuck- yes—“_

“It’ll stop,” Bucky growls and rolls his hips again, starts fucking him for real, slow and deep, determined to leave his mark.

It doesn’t stop, just gets louder, until with a frustrated groan Bucky shoves himself to his feet, scooping Tony up with him in the process, arms looped securely around Tony’s waist. 

Tony wraps himself around Bucky with a low whine as Bucky marches towards the kitchen, still buried inside him, and it doesn’t take them long to spot Tony’s pants, thrown over the small bar that separates living room from kitchen.

Bucky slams Tony down on the counter, fucks into him with deep, slow strokes while Tony fumbles his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, moaning and gasping and begging for more.

 _“Bucky,”_ Tony whines, clawing at his shoulders and yanking at his hair, like he’s trying to leave marks of his own. He nearly wails when Bucky lifts him up again, holds him in close and fucks him harder until Tony is groaning out _“What-_ oh my _god—“_

“Gotta make sure you miss me,” Bucky says, smirking and breathless, his lips dragging over Tony’s skin and punctuating each word by yanking Tony down onto his cock again, “Really give you somethin’ to remember me by.”

Tony clings to him tighter, moaning his name, and his nails dig into Bucky’s skin when he comes. He pulls Bucky into a kiss, needy and uncoordinated, and then whimpers so perfectly when Bucky presses him down into the bar again, fucks him with thrusts gone short and uncoordinated.

“Bucky,” Tony sighs when Bucky growls his way through his own orgasm and then tucks his face down to pant fast and warm against his dog tags where they’re pressed to Tony’s chest. Tony’s fingers slide through his hair and his voice is thick as he says “Bucky, _Bucky...”_

He doesn’t want to pull away, but he _has_ to, they both do, and there’s something growing hot and painful in Bucky’s chest. He can see it echoed on Tony’s face when he finally lifts his head, he can feel it sharpen when Tony curls down and presses a kiss to the curve of his eyebrow.

Showering takes Bucky longer than it should, because he stands zero chance against Tony’s big eyes and all-too-innocent “Don’t you _care_ about conserving water?”

They make out like teenagers under the shower spray until the water goes cold, until Bucky really does need to leave _now_ or he’s going to be late. Tony follows him to the door in just a pair of tight little boxers that Bucky would _really_ like to tear off of him, and Tony’s strained smile is _almost_ believable.

Bucky wishes his own smile felt as solid.

“See you when I get back,” he says, tugging a little at the chain around Tony’s neck, just to hear the way the tags clatter against Tony’s chest.

“Until then,” Tony says, like a promise, and kisses him one last time.

* * *

So Bucky leaves.

And he falls.

* * *

He’s taken.

He’s held hostage and tortured. 

He loses months.

He loses his arm and nearly loses hope, can’t quite bring himself to believe it when rescue comes.

It feels like he’s still falling, his stomach always churning and his chest constantly pulled tight.

He loses more months to rehab and therapy.

All he wants is to see Tony, wants it so badly that sometimes he can’t breathe. So badly that when he sleeps big brown eyes and an infectious laugh are the only things that break up the constant stream of nightmares.

But he can’t stand the idea of seeing revulsion in Tony’s eyes at his missing arm and mangled shoulder, at the broken pieces of him that are all that’s left.

* * *

Eventually everyone tells him that he’s healed, set him loose in the world again.

Bucky doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He finds a new apartment, tries to find ways to fill his time. He reads, he catches up on all the shitty TV that he’s missed, learns to do things one handed. Tries to find a new normal. 

Bucky goes to all the therapy and even stops complaining about it eventually. Sometimes he sees the few friends that he has, and manages to smile.

At night he walks around the city like a ghost, learns the ways that it’s changed and all the ways it hasn’t. Bucky doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he knows what he’s trying to outrun.

He doesn’t mean to find Tony, but he does.

* * *

Tony lives in the same apartment, he goes to the same tiny dive bar once a week, like clockwork.

Bucky can never bring himself to go in, to say anything, to get any closer than two blocks away.

Instead he just watches, like a shadow, like a _monster,_ and tells himself he’s imagining the shine of a silver chain around Tony’s neck.

Tells himself that it’s better this way.

* * *

Tony never takes the dog tags off, and Bucky wonders if he’ll ever stop falling.

He doesn’t see Tony everyday, doesn’t let himself, but he never sees Tony _without_ them. Sometimes Tony keeps them tucked beneath his shirt, just a hint of metal at his throat, and sometimes he wears them over his shirt, hanging blatant in the center of his chest.

Bucky’s name still on him.

It’s so tempting to follow Tony into the bar, drop into the seat across from him like nothing has changed. Like _Bucky_ hasn’t changed. It’s so tempting to show up at Tony’s door and beg to be caught because he can’t stop falling.

But Tony doesn’t know. He doesn’t deserve that.

Bucky has never been a particularly great man, he’s been a killer for years, a weapon, and now he has too many sharp edges.

Tony deserves more than a pile of scars and broken pieces.

But he still wears Bucky’s name on his chest, rubs his thumb over the metal as he sits outside his favorite restaurant and stares at his phone, and Bucky _wants._

* * *

He doesn’t mean for Tony to find him. Or maybe he does.

One day he looks up from the book he’s hiding behind and Tony is staring back at him from across the patio.

Bucky expects anger, disgust, hurt. He deserves it, but Tony must see something in his face, because his eyes just go big and sad, lips curling down.

Tony doesn’t move, and Bucky doesn’t move, and for several infinite seconds they just stare at each other. The dog tags fall free from between Tony’s fingers and clatter quietly against his chest.

Eventually Tony’s lips quirk up just a little, just a flicker of hope, and his fingers tap against the table as he uses one foot to shove the chair across the table from him out a little further.

Bucky pushes himself to his feet slowly and his stomach is twisting but it’s _different,_ warmer, he’s still falling but it’s gentle, slow and steady. He drops heavily into the empty chair at Tony’s table, feeling fragile, like the weak glow starting in his chest must show through all his broken edges.

Feels like he might shatter if he hits the ground.

“Haven’t seen you around,” Tony says, voice wavering, fingers still tapping at the tabletop. He looks like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing, like he might cry, might throw himself across the table. 

Bucky kind of wants him to, but he doesn’t know if he could catch Tony,if he’s _allowed,_ he doesn’t know what to say.

He could say that he hasn’t been around much, but it’s a lie, has been for a couple months. He could say that he’s sorry but it’s not _enough._ He wants to ask if Tony has taught his robots any new tricks, if he ever finished that thesis he spent half the night complaining about, a year and a lifetime ago.

There are so many things that Bucky wants to say, but he doesn’t know how, and in the end all he manages is “I finally read Chronos.”

Tony laughs, loud and delighted and a little watery, and something in Bucky’s chest unclenches, glows brighter. Tony’s tapping fingers move a little closer, inching across the table, and Bucky reaches out for him slowly.

He wraps his own rough, scarred hand around Tony’s, as careful as he knows how to be, and Tony’s smile is almost blinding.

Tony doesn’t ask any questions, and Bucky doesn’t know why he expected him to. Instead Tony tells him how the bots are doing, that he’s working on another degree, that he’s been making a list of terrible sci-fi for them to watch together.

Bucky doesn’t say much and Tony grins like he doesn’t mind, just listens when Bucky does speak and clings to his hand like he’s afraid to let go.

When they leave the restaurant they do it together, fingers still tangled together, spreading warmth up Bucky’s arm until he’s lit up with it.

Tony takes him home, like he wouldn’t dream of doing anything else, and Bucky is floating.

* * *

Tony’s apartment hasn’t changed much. The clutter is different, some of the furniture is new, but it feels exactly the same. 

Bucky’s legs can’t hold him, even though he feels lighter than he has in _so long,_ and when he drops down onto the couch he pulls Tony down with him, revels in the sound of Tony’s startled laugh.

”Is...” Tony asks, crawling into his lap with something like desperate hesitation, eyes wide and hands shaking a little as they settle on Bucky’s chest, “Is this ok?”

“Yeah,” Bucky chokes out and wraps himself around Tony as tightly as he can, arm around Tony’s waist and face buried in Tony’s neck, “Yeah this is perfect.”

Tony hums softly, slides his hands up to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair and doesn’t remark on any of the scars he must feel along the way. Bucky knows Tony must be able to feel the way Bucky’s breathing has gone wet and shaking against his throat, the warm metal of the chain that hangs there, but Tony doesn’t call him on it.

* * *

Bucky doesn’t remember falling asleep on the couch, and he has only the haziest memories of Tony convincing him to get up sometime in the middle of the night, leading him into the bedroom. 

Mostly all he remembers is feeling _warm,_ Tony's soft skin under his palm and Tony’s soft breath against his shoulder. The feeling of finally landing, and it doesn’t hurt at all.

He hasn’t slept so well in _years._

Bucky wakes up to an empty bed, still warm, the smell of Tony still wrapped all around him. The bedroom door is open and he can hear Tony moving around in the kitchen, still so close by. Bucky considers staying right where he is, more comfortable than he’s been in a long time, but even more, he wants to see _Tony._

So he wanders out of the bedroom, self-conscious even in his T-shirt and jeans. He finds Tony leaning against the island that separates the kitchen from the living room, buttering several pieces of unevenly browned toast.

Tony is dressed only in Bucky’s dog tags and a pair of tiny red shorts that say _‘enemy of the state’_ across the ass. Bucky nearly swallows his tongue with a strangled sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

“Good morning,” Tony says cheerily, flashing him a quick grin and arching his back a little harder, “I made coffee. And toast. Figured you could do _without_ the excitement of maybe waking up to a small kitchen fire.”

“Come back t’ bed,” Bucky growls, stomach fluttering with warmth and all worries forgotten in the face of how badly he wants to trace his fingers up the dip of Tony’s spine.

“What, you don’t want breakfast?” Tony asks, craning his neck around to pout up at Bucky, wiggling a piece of toast at him and then laughing when Bucky lunges toward him with another growl.

He pushes Tony down across the counter, puts his lips against the curve of Tony’s shoulder blade and tugs those stupid fucking shorts down around his thighs.

Bucky pins him in place with his one hand wide in the small of Tony’s back and eats him out until Tony knocks everything off the counter with his flailing, scrambling arms. Until Tony is wailing and rocking himself back against Bucky’s tongue, dog tags clattering loudly against the counter.

“Now come back t’ bed,” Bucky says, like a plea, placing toothy kisses up Tony’s back.

 _“Fuck yes,”_ Tony gasps, shoves himself upright again and spins to face Bucky on shaking legs. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and leans into him, groans out “Ugh, you expect me to _walk_ right now?”

Bucky laughs, scoops him up with one arm around his waist and carries him back to the bedroom.

Once they tumble into bed Tony rolls on top of him and all but tears Bucky’s jeans off, kisses him deep and filthy while they fumble with the lube and then rides him slow and torturous.

“Tony, baby- _fuck—“_ Bucky gasps, pawing at Tony’s heaving chest, his hip, the mouthwatering spread of his thighs, _“Tony.”_

“Yeah,” Tony moans out with a smile, blissed out and beautiful, and Bucky leans up to bite at his collarbone, arms hooked up around his shoulder to pull him in closer, _harder._

Tony comes with a sound that’s nearly a sob, tugging at Bucky’s hair, and Bucky tips his chin up to kiss him, his own chest full enough to burst.

”C’mon,” Tony whispers breathlessly, still rocking down against him, and then holds Bucky together when he falls apart, kisses him harder.

They lay curled together for a long time, panting, clinging to each other, and when Bucky sucks a new mark into his throat Tony arches against him with a happy sigh.

“I think the toast is ruined,” Tony finally says and then laughs when Bucky makes a considering noise, nose adorably wrinkling with disgust, “Gross, don’t even think about it. You still like jalapeños on your pizza?”

* * *

“Can- do you have to go?” Tony asks once they’ve eaten a pizza and a half, curled in against Bucky’s side on the couch, shooting him a hopefully look. His fingers tap against Bucky’s thigh and his voice drops as he adds “Or, can you—“

”Hear you have a list of movies for me,” Bucky says and his stomach twists pleasantly at the wide smile that spreads across Tony’s face. “How’s that sound for a date?” He asks, grinning back, floating.

“Sounds perfect,” Tony sighs, smiling wider as Bucky hooks a finger into the chain of the dog tags and pulls him into a kiss.


End file.
